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MEMORIES AND OTHER VERSES 



MEMORIES 

.-.{ti.ht,: . , 

AND OTH'ER.'I/ ERSES 

BY 

EDWARD ROBESON TAYLOR 



Forenoon and afternoon and night, — Forenoon, 
And afternoon, and night, — Forenoon, and — what! 
The empty song repeats itself. No more ? 
Yea, that is Life : make this forenoon sublime, 
This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer. 
And Time is conquered, and thy crown is won. ' ' 

Life. — Edward Rowland Sill. 

* I praise Thee, Father, though Thou thrust 
Me crying in the common dust. 
Not as I will but as I must." 

A Canticlt of Common Thingt. — ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER Bbnson. 




ONE HUNDRED COPIES PRINTED FOR PRIVATE 
CIRCULATION AT SAN FRANCISCO IN THE MONTH 
OF DECEMBER AND YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED. 



■ ill iinitf 



jj.hfMr'^' of Conc7r«;*sJ 

JAN 17 1901 

Cue »r right miry 

SECOND COPY 



Copyright^ IQOOf 

by 

Edward Robeson Taylor 






n 



Printed by The Stanley- Taylor Company 
San Francisco 



TO MY SONS 
EDWARD DeWITT TAYLOR 

AND 
HENRY HUNTLY TAYLOR 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



MEMORIES : . 
The Master 
Memory's Bells 
Visions . 
Memories . 
In Time of May 
With Memory as Steersman 
A Summer Day 
On a Walk . 
In the Autumn Woods 
A Winter Day 
To the Missouri 
The Dreams of Long Ago 



HELICONIAN ECHOES : 

Theseus and Ariadne 

Icarus 

Iphigenia 

Orestes . 

Circe 

Ulysses and Calypso . 

Antigone 

Orpheus and Eurydice 

Narcissus 



IN MEMORIAM: 

In Memory of Helen Stanford Taylor 
In Memory of Bruno Lane Putzker 
In Memory of George Bonny 



I 

3 
4 

5 
6 

7 
8 

9 
lo 
1 1 

12 

»3 
H 

15 

»7 
18 

19 
20 
21 
22 
23 
24 
25 

27 
29 
47 
48 



IN MEDITATION: 

Scorn Not the Singer ..... 

My Sonnet Prison ..... 

Edelweiss ...... 

Unaccomplished 

Dante and Beatrice ..... 

To the Owl that alighted above the Picture of Athens 
Man's Heritage ...... 

Mystery .... 

Near Midnight of December 31,1 899 
Invocation . . . 

Compensation .... 

Concord . . . . 

Work and Service 
Consummation 

J. W 

Spring . 

On the Rubicon . . 

The Axe .... 

The Brook ........ 

To William Keith on his Painting, on his Sixtieth Birthday, 

a Picture entitled "The Last Gleam" 
Suggested by Looking at a Picture Painted by William Keith 

entitled " The Mountain " . . . . 

Suggested by Looking at a Picture Painted by William Keith 

entitled ** Into the Mystery '* . 
On a Picture Painted by the Poet, Lloyd Mifflin, entitled ** A 

Quiet Hour'* 

Vowels . . . . . . . 

Artemis ........ 

Golden Verses . . . . . . 

To Shelley 

Rudyard Kipling ...... 

At Edwin Markham's Private Recital .... 

To Professor Macewen ..... 

One of a Kind ....... 



51 

53 
54 
55 
56 

57 
58 

59 
60 
61 
62 
63 
64 
65 
65 
65 
66 
66 
67 
68 

70 

71 

72 

73 
74 
75 
!(> 
77 
77 
78 

79 
84 



IN MEDITATION — Continued : 

On Reading the Life of Henry George Written by his Son 

Henry George, Jr. . . . . . '85 

Faith 85 

Passion-Flo wer . . . . . . .86 

Her Resting Place . . . . . . 87 

The Voyage 88 

Despair Not ....... 88 

Voices . . . . . . . .89 

Whither ....... 90 



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"V '* ■ w — 



Memories 



TO THE MEMORY OF 

FREDERICK THOMAS KEMPER 



** I cannot but remember such things were. 
That were most precious to me.** 

Macbeth, Act iv. Scene 3. 

**The vestal flame of quenchless memory burns 
In my soul's sanctuary.*' 

Love in Exile, — Mathilde Blind. 

What strength of years those blossoms had 
Which made my spring of life so glad. 
For in the dusty ways of men 
Their perfume fills my heart again. 



THE MASTER 



From out his noble face there looked an eye 
Bespeaking mastery; — ah, I see him now 
With gathered thunders on his clouded brow 
Whence lightnings leaped that none would dare defy. 

Yet kind and patient he, nor ceased to try 

The veriest dunce with learning to endow ; 
But half-done work he never would allow, 
Nor could he compromise with any lie. 

And he drank deep of joyance of the play 

That sent the blood all tingling through the veins, 
To drive the harassment of tasks away ; 

And now his years are done, there still remains 
Such love for what he gave me of my gains. 
It warms my heart as though new-born to-day. 



MEMORY^S BELLS 



The Past's memorial troop insistent ring 

Within my heart their deeply-sounding bells, 
Whose mournful tone in every throbbing tells 
Of joys that evermore have taken wing. 

Yet 'tis not sadness which alone they bring; 
For as I list, once more my bosom swells 
With boyhood's bounding sport in woods and dells. 
Where rapture's voices unrestrained sing. 

Ah, where are they who filled the long-drawn hours 
Of every season's wonderments with me 
As though life had but happiness for sign ? . . . . 

The bells have ceased ; the sky of evening lowers ; 
The fruitful summer can no longer be, 
And barren winter now alone is mine. 



VISIONS 



Hope drew me on to peaks that glittered bright 
With lovelier tints than rainbows ever knew, 
While round my loitering feet rare blossoms grew, 
Steeped in the glories of immatchless light. 

In golden opulence the days were dight. 

With every sky cloud-free, save when there flew 
Great flocks of dreams that veiled the pulsing blue 
Only to thrill me with a new delight. 

Ah, this was in the days so long ago, 
I marvel much if it be truly so — 
Those immemorial, passion-hearted years. 

My life's once blazing fires are burning low. 

And in my cheeks regret's unfathomed tears 
Have worn the channels age alone can know. 



MEMORIES 



Here let me put my daily burden by, 

To live one radiant, consecrated hour. 
While sceptred Memory with divinest power 
Commands obedient visions for mine eye : 

Ah, what procession floats beneath my sky. 

Of long-evanished joys in spring-time flower, 
When boundless realms were youth's demanded 

dower, 
And all its troubles but a tear or sigh ! 

And she the fairest of the ghostly throng. 
Who so entreats me with celestial gaze, 
Leaps in my heart and trembles in my song ; 

O purple-gloried, more than hallowed days. 

When she and I walked Love's enrapturing ways 
She that in Death's cold arms has lain so long ! 



IN TIME OF MAY 



Within thy silvern bars, oh, hold me fast, 

My Sonnet; — hold me safely, that my dream 
Of immemorial blooms on men may beam 
In all thy artistry of splendor cast. 

To murmurous music of the far-off Past 
Again I loiter by the woodland stream. 
Till on its memory-haunted banks I deem 
Myself with joys in fairy legion massed. 

Once more I seek the walnut^s easeful shade 

To eat the mandrake's gold-hued apple there, 
As all the ravishments of May are mine ; 

Once more with her that in the grave was laid 
Long, long ago, I breathe the fragrant air. 
And pluck at her fond wish the columbine. 



WITH MEMORY AS STEERSMAN 



'Tis memory steers me as my boat drifts by 

The banks with violets and sweet-williams gay, 
While far and near with many a carolling lay 
The mating songsters fill the earth and sky. 

Here let me stop, and 'neath the elm-tree lie. 

Where boyhood's moments passed like dreams away, 
And once more watch the sun's expiring ray 
Light the cows homeward from the pasture nigh. 

Their tinkling bells die out along the lane ; 
The gloaming slowly deepens into night, 
And mid the darkness Memory flies from me. 

Would she had longer stayed ; but her delight 

Has sweetly soothed the Present's piercing pain. 
And bade me hope for worthier days to be. 



A SUMMER DAY 



What treasure trove the languorous summer hours 
When all their golden moments were our own ; 
Beneath some tree's soft shade to drowsefol drone, 
And build in Dreamland fairy-peopled towers ! 

The birds are dozing in their leafy bowers, 
Save the woodpecker that is tapping lone 
Where dauntless bumble-bees make murmurous 

moan 
Among the blossoms of the drooping flowers. 

The sun sinks down in clouds that seem his pyre ; 
And as the dusk is edging into dark, 
And Hesperus faintly trembles into fire. 

The lightning-bug floats by, a glowing spark. 

While then we hear — ah, now I hear it still — 
The plaintive calling of the whippoorwill. 



MIMI 



ON A WALK 



O gentle Dream, thou art full kind to me, 
For at the close of this all-wearying day 
Within thine arms thou bearest me away 
To Memory waiting 'neath the mulberry-tree ; 

Where close beside her let me sit while she 

Recalls the boyhood feet that here did stray. 

The cardinaPs scarlet glory and his lay 

That shook the blossoms plundered by the bee. 

And then with her PU wander o'er the hills, 
And once again essay below the milPs 
Great wheel to lure the silvery perch in vain ; 

And as with heartening step we stroll along. 

What troops of stories will around us throng, 
What golden sunshine, what delightful rain ! 



lO 



■I 



IN THE AUTUMN WOODS 



I do remember in the long ago 

How flamed the maple 'gainst the clouded sky, 
While oak and hickory as with human sigh 
Saw all the ground their dying leaves bestrow. 

Ah, then the violets could no longer blow, 

And all their shrivelled stems the brook passed by 
In requiem as the quail's staccato cry 
Blent with the raucous cawing of the crow. 

But though the blooms were dead, the songsters mute. 
Ours the papaw and persimmon fruit 
When ripening frost had kissed them o'er and o'er ; 

While walnuts from their lofty place fell down, 
On winter eves the jocund feast to crown, 
With jennetings all mellow to the core. 



II 



A WINTER DAY 



The great Missouri, that when spring was young 
Rolled by in still increasing, widening flow. 
Now shrinks beneath the ice where skaters go 
Swifter than arrow by an Indian sprung ; 

And all the branches of the trees are hung 

With crystals sparkling in the sunshine's glow, 
While on the carpet of the fresh-laid snow 
Play's riot leaps the shouting youths among. 

Then down the hills the loaded coasters fly. 

The air is thick with balls, and wrestlers try 
For victory's palm contending breast to breast. 

O marvellous time, when as the winter stormed 
He boyhood's bosom with his ices warmed. 
And reared great palaces for bateless zest. 



12 



TO THE MISSOURI 



Imperial river, never would I dare 

To offer thee my insufficient rhyme, 
But that I do bethink me of the time 
So long ago, so crystallinely fair. 

When on thy banks I sported free as air, 

Plunged in thy tawny flood at summer's prime. 
And when the bells of spring rang sweet in chime 
Strolled on thy bluff^s for blooms enclustered there. 

I see thee now when snow and ice are gone 
In grand, majestic might roll swiftly on 
By city, bluff and bottom to the sea ; 

And I remember well that swirl of thine 

Wherein black death would quickly have been mine 
Had not the Master sprang to rescue me. 



THE DREAMS OF LONG AGO 



These dreams of mine refuse to let me go, 

And hold me close with such entreating face, 
With such insistent fondness of embrace, 
That once again I range the Long Ago ; 

Nor at this moment would I care to know 
The Present's most rememberable grace ; 
My feet are bounding in the woodland race, 
And everywhere Hope's ringing trumpets blow. 

The boundless forest and its streams are ours. 

Its luscious fruits and nuts, its beauteous flowers. 
With trees that lift their splendors to the sky ; 

While rare, melodious birds such strains prolong 
That all the universe is filled with song. 
And nought that breathes seems ever born to die. 



14 



Heliconian Echoes 



"And he had spoken with dead chiefs, a boy. 
Who, in their boyhood long ago, had touch* d 
The armed hands of heroes, that had warred 
Beneath Troywall, and saw the temples fall. 
And trod among the dust of Ilion ; 
And in the courts of Hecatompylos ; 
And heard the whispers of the oracles." 

Sappho and Alcaus. — Frederick Tennyson. 



Hi 



THESEUS AND ARIADNE 



Within the labyrinth's depths the Minotaur, 
Slain by the sword she gave, lay dead, 
And with his finger following her thread 
He issued forth to see the heavens once more. 

Then Theseus swiftly from the hated shore 
With Ariadne on his bosom fled. 
Still hearing as toward Naxos on they sped 
King Minos' cries above the ocean's roar. 

Deep-nested in love's softest down they lay 

When she to him : " Through me alone thy way 
To century-sounding fame has now been won ; 

And yet I fear ; — Oh, swear we shall not part ! " 
" By Aphrodite do I swear, sweetheart !".... 
Then rose portentous cloud and hid the sun. 



«7 



ORESTES 



When Agamemnon on the wings of Fame 

From conquered Troy to Clytemnestra flew. 
She kissed his lips as him iEgisthus slew — 
A pair of devils in immortal shame ! 

Orestes heard, and all his quivering frame 

Surged with a wrath the Pythoness so blew, 
That with his mother's blood he did imbrue 
The hand till then snow-white of any blame. 

Whereat the snakes of torture round his head 
Still closelier clung as on and on he fled 
Before the vengeful, fierce Eumenides ; 

But when the Tauric Artemis he bore 

To Argos' land, Athene's self did seize 

The raging Furies, and they scourged no more. 



20 



CIRCE 



In sunless vale the Circean palace stood 

A marble wonder, where, mid luring song 

And drowseful, fragrant sweets men lingered long, 

To drain their hearts and souls of every good. 

As wrought she at her web in singing mood, 
All unsuspicious came Ulysses' throng. 
Whom, like the rest, though bearded men and 

strong. 
She changed to beasts with bestial form endued. 

Then rose Troy's hero in tremendous ire. 

And scourged foul Circe with such words of fire 
She helpless crouched within her poisonous den ; 

And forth from out the wallow of their sty 

His rescued fellows came with sparkling eye, 
In shape and soul once more erect as men. 



21 



ULYSSES AND CALYPSO 



For that they slew the cattle of the Sun 

Ulysses* comrades sank to death while he, 
Borne on the billows of the friendly sea, 
Calypso's lovely isle in safety won ; 

Where filled with soothing rest his days did run 
To murmurous music's luring notes as she 
Bound him in coils of such captivity, 
That but for Zeus his soul had been undone. 

The God's command the enamored nymph obeyed. 
And helped the hero as his raft he made. 
The while her heart o'erflowed with parting's tears. 

His glimmering sail she watched till in the sea's 

Great void 'twas lost, then moaned because her 

years 
Were not as mortal as Penelope's. 



22 



■i 



ANTIGONE 



Most wretched of all wretched mortals he — 
Self-blinded CEdipus — his kingdom fled, 
And wandered on and on uncomforted 
Save by his faithful, fond Antigone. 

And when the Gods had set his spirit free. 

And she the sacred rites had paid, she sped 
Again to Thebes, and to her brethren said : 
" My love is now for you and e*er shall be;" 

Devotion vain ; for each the other slew, 
And Polynices lay, still unentombed. 
For birds and dogs. Then did Antigone 

Give his poor, outcast body burial due. 

To be herself by devilish hands inhumed 
And 'neath the clods to die in agony. 



23 



ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE 



When from his arms Death snatched Eurydice, 

On earth fell mute great Orpheus' matchless lyre, 
For he to Hades with his soul on fire 
Pursued his long-loved one to set her free. 

At every pause of his entreaties he 

So moved the Shades with music's deep desire. 
That Pluto, yielding, oped the portals dire. 
And gave her back to him and liberty. 

As from that dreadful place his steps did wind, 
With blissful heart she followed close behind. 
While he, as was enjoined, gazed still ahead ; 

At last he turned, with love's forgetful sense. 

For just one look, to find her vanished thence — 
Again companioned with the hopeless dead. 



24 



NARCISSUS 



Away from Echo's plaint Narcissus led 

His steps where lay a moss-engirdled pool, 
And wearied stooped to taste its waters cool ; — 
Then fell astonished as he were struck dead. 

At last he gazed ; then tried to clasp the head 
And kiss the face so strangely beautiful ; 
Yet he but marred the mirror's waveless lull, 
And wept to find his radiant vision fled. 

No food he sought nor sleep ; to gaze and sue, 

Burned by the noonday sun and drenched with 

dew, 
Were his alone until his parting breath. 

The nymph he scorned with kindly hand did strew 
Sweet grass and bloom upon his bed of death. 
And on the spot a flower immortal grew. 



25 



«ipii«lp 



T— ^ 



In Memoriam 



* * Thou hadst not slept an hour of that last sleep 
When my soul woke to know what it had lost. 
And met the shining face of what thou wast. 
Whom time can touch no more, nor earth can keep." 

The Inverted Torch, — Edith M. Thomas. 

"Shadows upon the wall. 

Wavering shadows and gray ; 
Lonely, heartsick, I reach my hand in the dark 
For the hand that has gone away.** 

The Dead, — Ella Higginson. 



IN MEMORY OF HELEN STANFORD 
TAYLOR 

June 3, 1900 



Oh, give me words all steeped in tears. 
And heated in the hottest fire 

My heart has known in all its years. 
To body forth my griePs desire ; 

To speak of her who was to me 
A vision of celestial light. 

But whom I can no longer see 

No matter where I strain my sight. 



I 



Can this be day ? The stars have fled ; 
Dawn's banners brighten overhead; 
The wagons roll along the street, 
And men go by with hastening feet; — 
Ah, yes, it must be day. 

But come and see where cold she lies, 
Death's fingers on her once-bright eyes ; 
With pallid lips that cannot stir; 
The aching mother bent o'er her; — 
Ah, no, it is not day. 



39 



mk 



II 



I cannot deem that she is dead ; 
I cannot think that she has fled 

Forevermore from me; 
For in the midst of nightly things 
There is a something subtile brings 

Her form again to me. 



30 



Ill 

A bird of strange and brilliant hue 

With powerless wing was fain to fly ; 

But as my heart its fate did rue, 

A sudden wind from out the sky 

Swept it far up until it seemed 

The strength had come its soul had dreamed. 



3' 



IV 



How bloomed round her the flowers of nurturing care, 
How breathed on her Home's kindliest summer-air. 
How softly smooth her daily paths were made. 
From that sweet moment Life first gave her breath 
Until that bitter time her dear head laid 
Its lilied loveliness in lap of Death ! 






32 



II 



My heart was kept with fear astir 
Lest lightest harm might come to her ; 
My lips could not have dared to speak 
One word to pale her bloomy cheek. 

But now my fears are gathered up 
In griefs exhaustless wormwood-cup, 
And though I spoke in loudest tone, 
Her cheek no paler hue could own. 



33 



iA 



VI 

In mystery's face I did but peer 
When she my heart with love did fill, 
And yet her pulseless beauty here 
Breeds mystery which is greater still. 



34 



VII 

Those dainty fingers, how they swept 
The keys until the music leapt 

With bounding, heartsome thrill ; 
But now as on her breast they lie, 
They from Death's organ wring a cry 

Than polar ice more chill. 



35 



VIII 

From out a wood where waters ran 

As only joyful waters can, 

Where flower and tree with rapture heard 

The ecstasy of many a bird, 

And in the air was such a lull 

That everything of peace seemed full, 

I sudden came upon a cave 

With brooding gloom as of the grave. 

And peering in the darksome nave. 

Awe-struck I saw upon a stone 

A mother bowed in grief alone. 



36 



IX 



Oh, mournful joy to call to mind 
What often comes at memory's beck : 
To see around each other's neck, 
Like honeysuckles intertwined. 
The arms of mother and of her 
Whom Death forbids dear Love to stir. 



37 



, 



X 



A music fell upon mine ear 
As though from some celestial sphere, 
Then sudden ceased, and discord's clang 
Throughout my heart remorseless rang. 
Alas ! what awful woe 
In human heart may grow ! — 
What dreadful thought to stab a man. 
That Heaven from Hell is but a span ! 



38 



XI 

Alone I lay on desert sands, 
No water near my palsied hands, 
Above me vultures' ravening bills, 
And in my heart the grief that kills. 

*Twas but a dream, as well you say, 
And as a dream, has passed away ; 
Then let us kneel beside her bier 
And beg the faith that casts out fear. 



39 



XII 

How far IVe come since I was born 
To be thus stricken and forlorn ; 
To halt beside Life's rugged road 
And pray for strength to bear my load. 



( 



40 



XIII 

An angel met me in the wood 
And led me where her sister stood ; 
Then each one kissed me on the cheek, 
But not a word did either speak. 
They vanished, but I knew that they 
Had brought me flower of peace that day. 



41 



XIV 

The fog rolls in as it has rolled 
For years that never can be told, 
And all the sky is dull and gray 
As in the far-off, olden day ; 

And hearts still ache 

Until they break. 
As it has been since Death held sway. 

But though the fog be deeper rolled 
The sun*s above it as of old ; 
No sky can be so dull and gray 
But that the blue will have its way ; 

And hearts will wake 

For love's dear sake, 
As it has been since Life held sway. 



42 



XV 

A woman, great of form and face, 
Who seemed to be of Sorrow's race. 
Led me away from sun-bright air, 
And from the trees and blossoms fair. 
To lonely depth of solemn wood 
Where but the sombre cypress stood. 

She gently breathed a wordless prayer, 
Then left me strangely dreaming there ; 
And when I waked, a newer grace 
Was round me as with love's embrace, 
And forth I went in heartened mood 
Beneath the spell of chastening's good. 



43 



XVI 

What note is this which sweeps 
Along the mountain steeps. 
Where neither flower nor tree 
Nor verdured thing can be ? 

' Tis Lifers great trumpet blown 
By lips that heroes own : 
"The death-strewn Past is gone — 
The Present's yours; — march on!" 



44 



XVII 

The world overflows its cup of woe. 
Each heart has felt the knife of pain ; 
But I would have my soul to know 
That all is best, that God doth reign. 



45 



O Grief that is darker than night ! 
O Sympathy brighter than light ! 
Mysterious twins, I have heard 
Your awfullest. kindliest word. 



'O PROFESSOR AND MRS. PUTZKER ON 
THE DEATH AT MANILA OF THEIR 
SON BRUNO LANE PUTZKER 

February i 2, 1 899 

Beneath Manila's far, relentless skies 

Your lovely, hero-hearted boy lies dead. 
Who from your nurturing arms so lately sped 
To serve his country's flag in great emprise ; 
.nd as mine ear is saddened with your cries 

Which spring from hearts as yet uncomforted, 
With freshened pain I hear death's trumpet dread 
Bid sorrow's legions troop before mine eyes. 
^or my dear one was lost in battle, too — 

Not where great War decrees tremendous doom, 
But where he strove beyond his strength to bear ; 
nd may these twain, to duty here so true. 
Roam free the asphodelian fields of bloom, 
No more to taste the marah of despair. 



47 



IN MEMORY OF GEORGE BONNY 

January 4, 1900 

You that loved him, gather here 
Round his bier. 

Let the roses heaping rest 
On his breast. 

In his heart their sweets were hived 
While he lived. 

And he might unquiet be 
If that we 

Did not give his bed of death 
Their dear breath. 

Mid their fragrance let us say. 
As we pray, 

How he nursed a patient mood 
Filled with good — 

Good that flowed without an end 
To his friend ; 

How, whatever stress might be. 
Equal he ; 



48 



HBIMIBIHH^H^HI^IHIH^ 



How with every breath he drew 
He was true ; 

How he charmed us with his word. 
As we heard 

Stingless wit and ready sense 
Flowing thence ; 

How he walked affection's ways 
All his days ; 

And how Beauty's conquering art 
Held his heart, 

Till he seemed her very child 
Undefiled. 

Gather then with roses here 
Round his bier. 

And in heaps upon his breast 
Let them rest. 



49 



Ml 






« 



J 



In Meditation 



"The soul. 
Forever and forever — longer than soil is brown and solid — longer than 
water ebbs and flows." Walt Whitman. 

"What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal." 

Byron's Childe Harold. 



SCORN NOT THE SINGER 



Scorn not the singer though his tremulous lay 
Ring not along the arches of the sky. 
Content the daisy's lowly sweets to try 
As o*er the mead it wings its modest way ; 

For nectar-laden it may chance to stray 

Near some lone heart that beats to hopeless cry, 
And yielding sweetness as it passes by 
Bid Promise point to new, rewardful day. 

O Poesy, thou mightiest of the Nine, 

Now more than ever do we need the aid 
Of e*en the humblest votary of thine ; — 

Now when, as old ideals begin to fade, 

In stress of doubt we question the divine 
And mid its splendors dare to be afraid. 



53 



MY SONNET PRISON 



Full oftentimes my friends have said to me : 

" Give o'er the sonnet, since thou dost but lie 
At leaden length beneath its narrow sky — 
A slave imprisoned when thou mightst be free. 

Though true it is the masters loved by thee 

Have in that cage sung strains that cannot die, 
Yet they were those who could all bonds defy. 
And soar at will in Art's immensity." 

Then I to them : " No eagle's wings are mine. 
That tempt the vastness of immortal song. 
To rest at last on fame-encrowned years. 

Leave me my prison bars, to me divine. 

Where with the Muse I have communed so long. 
And on her breast have shed memorial tears." 



I 



54 



^ 



EDELWEISS 



" To-morrow from Zermatt we*ll see the grand, 
Far Theodule and soaring Matterhorn ; 
And then, O joy ! as though for us just born. 
In luring nook the Edelweiss will stand." 

The morrow's breeze the peak and glacier fanned, 

And fanned the form of her that crushed and torn 
Lay like uprooted lily pale and lorn. 
The fatal Edelweiss within her hand. 

Her body fouled with stains they bore far up 
From precipice's foot to church's arms. 
And would have earthed it 'neath memorial stone ; 

But vain the offer of this final cup : 

For she who fled the city's roars and harms 
Now found that even in death it claimed its own. 



55 






UNACCOMPLISHED 



He parcelled off from Beauty's vast demesne 
One little spot that seemed so very fair, 
He thought his soul might rest securely there, 
Triumphant in a spring of fadeless green ; 

And in the distance looming clear were seen 

Great towers that wooed such empyreal air. 
They mocked alike man's ravage and his care, 
Beaming like stars eternally serene. 

Then came the Muse and whispered in his ear 
Seductive sweetnesses that so beguiled. 
He dared a tower of his own to rear ; 

But scarce one dawn beheld it, when a wild 

Wind smote it, and in night that knew no gleam 
It crashed to fragments as a shattered dream. 



56 



flHMMi 



DANTE AND BEATRICE 

TO A. S. T. 

O world-compelling Dante, who the sea 

Of Poesy so stirred from shore to shore, 
That even as yet its surging thunders roar 
In tones undying as eternity ; 

With master spirit so supremely free 

It scorned all bonds and swept through every lore. 
On wisdom's pinions at the last to soar 
To empyreal world of ecstasy ! 

The crown of sorrows with its thorns was thine ; 
But in thy bosom blazed the fire divine 
That lit thy track to Paradise from Hell ; 

And she who gendered its immortal light 

Has starred forevermore the matchless might — 
Disputeless miracle — of woman's spell. 



57 



TO THE OWL THAT ALIGHTED ABOVE 
THE PICTURE OF ATHENS HUNG IN 
ONE OF THE LECTURE HALLS OF 
RUTGERS COLLEGE 

TO PROFESSOR JACOB COOPER 

O thou, wise bird Athene made her own, 

Did instinct's pulses beat within thy breast 
When in this college hall thy wings found rest 
Above the picture of her matchless throne ? 

Or wast thou here at favoring moment blown 
By breeze favonian, to remind us lest 
Our faith in old ideals, so long professed. 
Be like the Parthenon's columns — overthrown J 

It matters not ; we take thee as thou art. 

And house thee safe and warm in every heart. 
For ne'er before was spectacle like this ; 

And now we feel the centuries backward rolled, 
While in supernal splendor as of old 
Upsoars the temple-crowned Acropolis. 

Published in The Indefindtnt (N. Y.) May 26, 1900. 



58 



MAN'S HERITAGE 



TO REV. HORATIO STEBBINS 



Immortal Man, what treasure falls to thee! — 

The ages million-yeared whose life-blood still 
Flows through the channels of thy good and ill 
As will thine own through those that are to be ; 

The prisoned secrets yearning to be free ; 

The infinite-sounding harmonies that fill 

All space and being ; and that supremest Will 

Which weaves the web of life's great mystery. 

Dig where thou wilt and thou shalt jewels find, 
As will thy brother in no less degree 
Who searches centuries hence with deeper mind ; 

For thou art ruled by such divine decree. 

And in the Eternal's breast art so enshrined, 
Thy wealth can feel no bound's extremity. 



59 



iiii 



MYSTERY 



What notes of mystery in our being sound ! — 
The unimaginable depths of space; 
The multitudinous worlds in pauseless race 
Toward far-off goals beyond all dreaming*s bound ; 

This orb of ours whereon man sits encrowned 
A God and Devil — void of any place 
Where Life and Death meet not in fierce embrace 
To what deep purpose thought has never found. 

There is no great or small : this grain of sand 
Its secret holds, as does the shaping hand 
Which fast cements it in the building's wall ; 

And this vain butterfly, that only can 
In winged rapture hasten to its fall, 
Mysterious is as thy great soul, O Man ! 



60 



^i 



^ 



NEAR MIDNIGHT OF DECEMBER 
THIRTY-FIRST, 1899 



In retrospective dream I watch my fire, 

Erst bright with flame, to embers now decline, 
As thee, once young and lusty Ninety-nine, 
Within the arms of Time I see expire. 

And as thou sink'st to death. War's clamorings dire 

More horrent scream than when life first was thine. 
While man now drinks his brother's blood for wine 
With bestial, unappeasable desire. 

Thou seem'st of evil wrought, but so did they 

Thy vanished kin ; yet man still holds his way 
Through all the maze and tangle of despair ; 

Still Love uprears her palaces divine ; 

No deed's to do but finds some arm to dare. 
And God still lets His stars in glory shine. 



61 



INVOCATION 



As kind as thou hast been to me, O Sleep, 

Since first as friends we met, be kinder now : 
Lay thy most velvet touch upon my brow, 
And in thy syrups all my being steep ; 

If there be hushful chamber far and deep 
Where thou alone oblivion dost allow. 
Bear me to it, sweet one, and then do thou 
Still in thine arms my wearied senses keep. 

Let not one dream thy watchful guard break through. 
To mar the blessedness of such repose. 
Or tempt m^e forth to mingle more with men. 

At times such horrors rise before the view 
That life seems raging in a hell of woes. 
With earth scarce better than a slaughter-pen. 



62 



tmm 



COMPENSATION 



TO P. C. L. 



inimitably vast the ocean rolls 

Before me as its wreck-strewn shore I tread, 
And in its depths I view the unnumbered dead 
That stare for aye at unaccomplished goals. 

So, round the world my sorrowing sight controls 
The sea of life, with waves from slaughter red. 
That heave forevermore above the bed 
Where lie the hopes and aims of myriad souls. 

Yet in that ocean's breast the pulses beat. 

To send rich blood through every country's veins, 
Bespeaking services of mutual good ; 

And in this sea Joy still the heart constrains ; 

Here Duty's jewels are; and here Love's seat, 
Divine as that which over all doth brood. 



63 



CONCORD 



TO E. D. T. AND H. H. T. 



This graceful blade of springing grass behold, 

And this poor, stolid weed that droops near by. 
Then range once more with wonder-ravished eye 
0*er worlds on worlds through space's vastness 
rolled ; 

Look on this marvellous tree whose years untold 
Still mock at death, where, as we dreaming lie, 
Dear Memory breathes her softly-saddened sigh 
On past-gone days of purple and of gold. 

O grass and weed ! O rolling suns and tree ! 
O immemorial dreams so bitter-sweet ! 
Kin each to all in God's immensity ; 

In tiniest speck the world-force is complete. 
And e'en the Universe itself doth beat 
In tune to one eternal harmony. 



64 



Hf 



WORK AND SERVICE 

Through work and service thou mayst see 
The inmost heart of liberty, 
And make thy sum of days to be 
One fused organic harmony. 



CONSUMMATION 

Strength to resist temptation*s subtlest bait, 
Unquailing fortitude mid every fate. 
Laborious zeal to do the task at hand, 
With Love and Faith in unrestrained command; 
If thou hast them, through all the seas of stress 
Thy soul shall reach the port of blessedness. 



J. W. 

His cottage looks in quiet down 
Upon the far, outspreading town. 
Whose joys and woes with spirit art 
Sing in the palace of his heart. 



65 



SPRING 



TO HELEN 



Balm-breathing Spring trips o'er the hills 
To music of the gladsome rills, 

And every bud is stirred. 

As now the mating bird 
The fragrant air with throated rapture fills. 

And as we walked, sweet daughter mine. 
This morn beneath Spring's dewy sign, 

I heard thy budding heart 

Perform its joyful part — 
Harmonious in that symphony divine. 



ON THE RUBICON 

July 24, 1900 

The merry songsters' minstrelsy. 
The river singing ceaselessly. 
My two boys tramping by my side, 
While round us rose the summer's tide. 



66 



THE AXE 

After Henri de R^gnier 

.isten. The Icy wind on roadway's pebbles here 
Makes slowly, surely sharp — workman no eye can see — 
[Its norther's bills and scythes as keen as steel can be. 

isten. Time's footfall sounds upon the cross-road drear. 

jsten. Afar e'en now the flowers are stripped and sere ; 
[The neighboring mead's a-cold; and this majestic tree 
At breath so murderous shakes and shudders fearsomely ; 
[While trickles drop by drop its Dryad's life-blood dear. 

'he woodmen, binding bark and fagots, wend their way 
[Alas ! thy towering stature and thy strength to slay ; 
'hy shade has marked the hour for thee to be laid low ; 

But when some autumn eve is proud to see thee die, 
[Amid thy golden limbs that all dismembered lie, 
'hen calmly, grandly fall beneath the axe's blow. 



67 



THE BROOK 

After Theophile Gautier 

Between two stones, in shady nook. 
From spring that oozes near a lake, 
In merriest humor runs a brook 
As though some far-ofFgoal to make. 

It murmurs: Oh, what joy is mine! 
Below the ground what night to see ! 
And now my banks with verdure shine. 
While skies admire themselves in me. 

The azure myosotis cries 

To me. Forget me not, I pray ! 

I feel the tails of dragon-flies 

My bosom scratch in sportive play; 

From out my cup the bird drinks free ; 
And after winding far, who knows 
But that the vales, rocks, towers will be 
Bathed by my wave that grandly flows ? 

I shall embroider with my spume 
Stone bridge and quay's granitic wall, 
And bear great steamers as they fume 
Toward boundless ocean, end of all. 

68 



Thus talks the brook in chattering craze ; 

In it a hundred projects grow ; 

Like water boiling in a vase 

No self-restraint its soul can know. 

But tomb and cradle stand anear ; 
The giant dies a pygmy small : 
To trouble born, the brook falls sheer 
Into the lake that drinks it all. 



69 



TO WILLIAM KEITH ON THE OCCASION 
OF HIS PAINTING, ON HIS SIXTIETH 
BIRTHDAY, A PICTURE ENTITLED 
"THE LAST GLEAM" 



Suffused with golden hue thy landscape lies 

Where restful oaks forbid their leaves to stir, 
And where, mid thoughts of days no time can blur, 
I see thy fruitful art still upward rise. 

For many a year, indomitably wise. 

Thou hast of nature been interpreter. 

Nor hast thou needed but thy soul^s own spur 

To paint such day as on this canvas dies — 

Not dies, but lives : for its last gleaming ray 

Shall light these sheep upon their homeward way 
Long after thy great heart can beat no more ; 

And while the living shepherds pass away, 
This one of thine in all his radiant store 
Shall help to wreathe thee with undying bay. 



70 



SUGGESTED BY LOOKING AT A PICTURE 
PAINTED BY WILLIAM KEITH EN- 
TITLED "THE MOUNTAIN" 

TO J. W. 

What wrecks of Time and Storm are crumbling here ! 
The rocks that seemed eternal shattered lie. 
And pines that sang their glorias to the sky- 
In mute dismemberment stretch prone and drear. 

Beneath this gloomfiil shade, wide-spreading near, 
What hidden things in loneliness may sigh, 
What spirits of the Past may wander by. 
Their cheeks bedewed with immemorial tear ! 

But look beyond : the towering summits glow 
With grand magnificence of dazzling light. 
That tints with rainbow hues their bosomed snow ; 

And as I gaze, with secret, magic might 

My soul seems lifted from the glooms below 
To faiths that blaze immaculately bright. 



71 



SUGGESTED ON LOOKING AT A PICTURE 
PAINTED BY WILLIAM KEITH EN- 
TITLED "INTO THE MYSTERY" 



The palpitating splendors of the West 

In mystery tremble through the wood, as Day 
With noiseless footfall slowly steals away 
To Night's star-lighted palace and to rest. 

Save where these cavaliers spur on with zest, 
As if some fateful message to convey 
For leagues beyond, all sounds of sad or gay 
Lie stirless on the landscape's lovely breast. 

And should we ask these horsemen in their pride 
What word it is they carry on their ride. 
And what dear heart to hear it breathed would break. 

They sure would say : That word is ours alone ; 
To Dreamland only is that loved one known. 
Yet we shall ride forever for her sake. 



72 



ON A PICTURE PAINTED BY THE POET, 
LLOYD MIFFLIN, ENTITLED "A QUIET 
HOUR" 



With splendor^s pageantry the lordly day 

Is marching to its death : for now the sun 
Has o*er the battling clouds such victory won. 
He floods the west with glory-flaming ray. 

His foes retire, while *neath his regal sway 
The placid river, all its day*s frets done. 
Dreams of the nearing stars, and joys to run 
With vesper music on its radiant way. 

Within the boat, that lightly glides along 

As though 'twere leaf from neighboring islet blown. 
An idle fisher plies an idle oar. 

Here Quiet broods with all her lovely throng. 

And here in them my torn heart finds its own, 
And for a moment hopes to grieve no more. 



73 



VOWELS 

After Arthur Rimbaud 

Vowels, A black, E white, I red, U green, O blue, 
Some day Til tell your hidden births in cunning wise. 
A, bodice black and shaggy formed of brilliant flies 
Enclosing stenches foul, intolerable crew. 

Gulps darkness ; E, white tents, the fleecy mists of skies, j 
Proud glacier's lance, blonde kings, tremors that umbels 

woo ; 
I, purples, blood spat out, smile of dear lips that sue 
When passion shakes the soul or sweet repentance sighs ; 

U, cycles, emerald seas with tremulous waves divine ; 
Peace of the meadow's breast, peace of each wrinkled line 
That on great, studious faces magically lies ; 

O, clarion's voice supreme, with stridors loud and strange, 
Hushed silences the worlds and angels ever range ; 
O, the Omega, ray of her deep violet eyes. 



74 



ARTEMIS 

After Gerard de Nerval 

The Thirteenth comes again . . . Yet still the first is here; 
Alway the sole dear one, — or only hour for me : 
For art thou, Queen, the first or last one to appear ? 
Art thou, King, lover sole, or last that is to be ? 

Love them who loved you well from cradle to the bier ; 
She whom I loved alone still loves me tenderly ; 
'Tis death — or she that's dead . . . O joy ! O agony ! 
The rose she holds, ah, that's the hollyhock so dear. 

St. Neapolitan, with hands whence flames arise ; 
Flower of St. Gudule — thou violet-hearted rose: 
Hast thou now found thy cross in desert of the skies ? 

White roses, fall ! You mock our Gods in foulest wise ; 
Fall, ye white phantoms, down from out your heaven that 

glows : 
— The Saint of the abyss is holier to mine eyes ! 



75 



GOLDEN VERSES 

After Gerard de Nerval 

Free-thinking Man ! believest that thy thought alone 
Pervades this world where life in everything streams 

bright ? 
The forces in thy hand are at thy freedom's might. 
But of thy counsels nought the Universe has known. 

A spirit stirring free the beast can call his own ; 
Each flower's a soul by Nature brought to being's light ; 
In Love's deep mystery e'en the metal is bedight ; 
All feel, and in thy breast each rears puissant throne. 

Fear thou, in darksome wall, an eye that watches thee ! 
In matter's self a voice incorporate with it cries . . . 
Oh, never be it raised to serve impiety ! 

In some obscure one oft a God all hidden lies ; 
And like the nascent eye which veiling lids enclose. 
Beneath its shell of stone a pure, sweet spirit grows. 

Note. — The title of this sonnet is "Vers Dores,*' by which, I 
venture to suggest, the poet intends to characterize the verse as gnomic 
in contradistinction to his symbolic, imaginative verse. The difference 
is plainly indicated by comparing his "Artemis** with this sonnet. In 
LittreK we find this: "Vers d*or ou vers dore's, vers gnomiques attri- 
bues a Pythagore.** The French text from which this version was 
made, as well as that from which the versions were made of " Artemis " 
and "Vowels,** was taken from Mr. Arthur Symons* very interesting 
volume entitled "The Symbolist Movement in Literature.** 

76 



TO SHELLEY 

Bright seraph of the cloud and air, 

Couldst thou have left thine eyry there, 

And felt the earth beneath thy feet 

Till life for thee was all complete ; 

Or had the waves not swept thee down 

Thou wouldst have worn still richer crown ; 

But why regret ? — thy lyric lay 

Still wings its rapturing, skyey way. 

While that brute world which gave thee blows 

Now on thy tomb Love's roses throws. 



RUDYARD KIPLING 

*Tis not for beauty that to him we go, 

Nor for the gilded dust of by-gone days ; 

But for the forceful, unimpeded flow 

Of hottest blood that fills unwonted ways; 

For strifes and loves, for pleasures and for pains, 

That roll tumultuous in the Present's veins. 



77 



AT EDWIN MARKHAM'S PRIVATE 
RECITAL 

May 5, 1899 

Of old, when wassail held its roisterous way 

Amid the warriors fresh from lust and gore. 

For them the Minstrel swept his harp-strings o'er, 

And loudly sang his rudely-fashioned lay ; 

But now, in pauses of the violin's play. 

The Poet reads from out his harvest store. 
To those who thirst for spirit-wakening lore. 
His moving numbers till with him they pray — 

Pray to be " kind and patient as a tree ; " 

Pray for a spirit which, while " propt with power," 
Shall ever be " as simple as a flower ; " 

Pray that the Christ in all men's hearts may be. 
So that their cruelties and greeds shall fall 
Before dear Love triumphant over all. 



78 



J 



TO PROFESSOR WILLIAM MACEWEN OF 
GLASGOW UNIVERSITY, SCOTLAND 

(written on the occasion of his delivery of the 
first course of lane medical lectures at 
cooper medical college, san francisco, in 
september, 1 896) 

Hail, and all hail, thou glorious soul 

From over seas ! 
Not often do our fates control 

Such days as these — 
Days that are filled with stirring thought 
From your overflowing treasure caught. 

And all the more we press your hand 

In welcome here. 
For does not every heart expand 

In Burns's year? — 
The hundredth since he laid him down 
With Love's and Fame's immortal crown ; — 

Expand at least to him who brings 

From Scotia's strand. 
On Science's all-willing wings. 

To this far land, 
A message that shall strike its root, 
To bear soul-satisfying fruit. 

79 



What pulse does not the faster beat 

At Scotia's name ? 
In what world's garden shall we greet 

More flowers of fame, 
That watered with perpetual dews 
Their freshness they can never lose ? 

And midst them all see Hunter raise 

His lofty head, 
As he the world of life surveys, 

That he might spread 
Such splendor of achievement round. 
He seemed to stand on magic ground. 

By right divine he lives with those 

Colossal few. 
That on the centuries repose. 

To there renew 
From out the crystal fount of Truth 
Their sempiternal, glorious youth. 

He deemed that Law's great coil entwines 

All forms and things — 
No more the star which deathless shines, 

Than fly that wings 
Its tiny self in summer's air, 
To perish in a moment there. 

80 



To him the universal course 

One harmony was. 
That knew no weakening of its force, 

Nor lawless pause. 
But ran to music's ordered play 
Through nature's vast, unending day. 

His comprehensive genius sought 

All realms to see ; 
In countless forms of life he wrought 

Incessantly, 
Pursuing with prodigious care 
Each wonder to its secret lair. 

No respite was for him, nor ease ; 

Toil piled on toil ; 
Labor was all his soul could please, 

And heaping spoil 
So rich mankind still ponders o'er 
The varied richness of its store. 

The Abbey took him to her breast, 

And this was well ; 
For sure no more deserving guest 

With her doth dwell ; 
But when Westminster's walls are gone, 
John Hunter's name shall still live on. 

81 



Old Scotia's many deathless names 

I may not sing, 
But this great one so starlike flames, 

I thought to bring 
My meed at such a time as this 
Might not be taken as amiss; 

For you are one of those who stand 

In Hunter's line, 
And serve to make your marvellous land 

So radiant shine. 
That Scotland's soil exhaustless seems 
In all that Science hopes or dreams. 

For you the very gates of life 

Are opened wide, 
Wherethrough the all unerring knife 

May safely glide. 
Bearing upon its glittering edge 
The boundless bliss of healing's pledge. 

Even cranial walls oppose in vain: 

For breaking through. 
You seize the demons of the brain, 

By faultless clew. 
And set their tortured victims free. 
That life and joy again may be. 

82 



And we who sit beneath your voice, 

And at your feet. 
With feeling's deepest note rejoice. 

For here doth meet 
All that can keep our hearts in tune 
To this inestimable boon. 

Hail and all hail, once more, all hail, 

To you and yours ! 
And when you bend your homing sail 

For Scotia's shores. 
Be sure you'll take across the blue 
Remembrance dear as man e'er knew. 



83 



ONE OF A KIND 



One of the genial tribe of critics, who 

Can run your volumed years of labor through 

Quite at a glance, and then with lofty scorn 

Wonder such verse should ever have been born, 

Deemed that I gave my poor, applausive word 

Too freely to the ones my heart preferred, 

And for such promiscuity he banned 

My rhymes forever from the Muses* land. 

But who except the paltriest soul would stay 
The humblest hand that holds one leaf of bay. 
Or close the lips which tremble with the praise 
Of any man that walks unworldly ways ? 
Most worthy critic, you are safe enough ; 
Next week will be forgot your wretched stuff. 
While those you prick with your envenomed pen 
Will roam delighted in the hearts of men. 



84 



ON READING THE LIFE OF HENRY 
GEORGE WRITTEN BY HIS SON HEN- 
RY GEORGE, Jr. 

Again I hear his dauntless voice, 
Again my heart with his is one. 
Again I hear great souls rejoice 
At deathless work supremely done, 
And see once more the millions stirred 
At his incomparable word. 



FAITH 

Though man be lost in maze of mystery*s land, 
'Tis his to feel if not to understand. 
And hear the heartening voice that ever sings 
Of all the deep divinity of things. 



«5 



PASSION-FLOWER 

After Mme. la Comtesse de Chambrun 

Behold the flower I choose. 
Now that my years decline : 
The Passion's flower some 
Have called it, but the name 
Of flower of Life I give as mine. 

What matters it ? — 'Tis all the same : 
For see, it has the crown of thorns. 
The ladder mounting to the sky. 
And sponge where drops divine by turns 
Of hyssop and of honey lie. 

The green of hope within it glows. 
Here sorrow spreads her violet hue, 
*Tis joy, 'tis suffering, and it knows 
The cradle and the cofiin too. 

'Tis then the flower I choose. 
Now that my years decline ; 
With tint like that which pales 
The day that cannot last, 
'Tis both the Future and the Past. 



NOTB. — The original of the exquisite lyric from which this version was made was drawn to 
my attention by Professor E. B. Lamare. 

86 



HER RESTING PLACE 



She rests not where the bending flowers 
Can spill their perfume over her, 
But in the cells of loveliest flowers 
Her body's atoms once more stir, 
To give those blooms a brighter hue 
Than e'er before their petals knew ; 
While in the urn her ashes lie, 
White as her soul that cannot die. 



87 



THE VOYAGE 

O Youth, when setting sail 

For golden lands. 
Careless what winds prevail, 

What life demands. 
Such gorgeous colors spread before thine eye, 
Such rainbows span the far-uplifted sky. 

When setting sail. 

O Age, when furling sail 

From fruitless lands. 
Whose soul has felt the bale 

Of lifers demands, 
Such dark-hued colors spread before thine eye. 
Such near-descending clouds hide all the sky. 

When furling sail. 



DESPAIR NOT 

Despair not, for the infinite is thine — 

Thine which is part of an eternal whole 

In all its good and evil so divine. 

Thou scarce canst know how precious is thy soul. 

LofC. 

88 



^^AdA. 



PS 



VOICES 



From out the azure's depths serenely falling, 
At times I hear celestial voices calling, 

And then in spirit-flight 

I soar from murky night. 
To seek their presence in the fields of Light. 

And by their marvellous tones the air is shaken, 
Until I feel my fearsome soul awaken 

To faiths that set it free ; 

And calm as one might be, 
I dare to ask what death can come to me. 



89 



WHITHER 



Ah, my Songs beloved, 
Whither do ye go ? — 
O beloved Poet, 
That we cannot know. 

Who can tell what roses 
Will to-morrow bloom. 
Or what wings be folded 
In relentless gloom? 

We abide the future. 
As the greatest must — 
Sure to find the laurel 
Or be less than dust. 



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